Salvation
by Kaylle
Summary: “Some prince of the Arjikis you turned out to be. You're lost.” Elphaba/Fiyero, musicalverse, sometime between Thank Goodness and WWotE.
1. Chapter 1

I should warn you that I don't usually post as I go. I'm terrible about finishing stories and the last time I tried to post as I went it took me almost two years to finish the stupid thing. But this is what's been in my head this week and I want to play with it, and I'm hoping that having an audience will give me the incentive I need to finish it. (And this should be a much shorter story than In Dreams was, so I'm hoping it won't take me nearly as long!)

This is unbetaed. I could use a beta-reader or two for future chapters. If you're interested in the job, let me know :)

* * *

SALVATION  
By Kaylle

Fiyero was beginning to feel the slightest bit foolish.

_Some prince of the Arjikis you turned out to be. You're lost. _If his father were here he'd surely die of shame. Although, in fairness, he'd been trained to survive in the Vinkus, in the grasslands and craggy mountains that his homeland was known for. He hadn't been taught to navigate the Great Gillikin Forest.

He was also, though he hated to admit it, beginning to feel a little worried. He'd been wandering for over an hour now without encountering a familiar landmark. It was getting dark, and a storm was blowing in from the north, glowering fiercely on the horizon. The wind was picking up speed. It was not the sort of storm he wanted to be caught in, especially in the middle of a forest full of massive, ancient trees. He needed to find shelter. There were small caves scattered through this part of the wood; perhaps he could find one.

For just a moment he let himself silently curse at Elphaba. It was her fault he was out here, after all. He'd spent the last year and a half searching for her, to no avail. Didn't she know he was looking for her? Why was she making it so difficult? Did she think he would turn her in, when he found her? He sighed. Of course he wouldn't turn her in. Didn't she know he lo--

Fiyero shook his head sharply and turned his attention back to the more pressing search at hand-- that for shelter from the coming storm. There was a darkened smudge among the trees ahead of him, perhaps ten minutes' walk away. It might be a cavern large enough to hide in until the worst of the storm blew over. He started toward it, stubbornly determined not to think of Elphaba.

But it was so _hard_ not to think of her. Not to wonder where she was, what she was doing. Was she out in this same storm? He remembered what the Ozians said of her-- _I hear her soul is so unclean, pure water can melt her_-- and although Fiyero didn't believe _that_ for a second, he didn't like to think of her huddled cold and wet and alone in the darkness. Did she have someplace safe and warm to go?

He grimaced. Enough of that. He focused instead on placing one foot in front of the other. It really was getting dark now, and the wind was picking up sharply. Why had he chosen to perform this scouting mission alone? The forest could be dangerous, and as a rule he never let his men go out on missions alone. Why hadn't he brought any them along with him?

Ah, because if he _had_ found her, he wouldn't have wanted any of his men around. That was why his solitary scouting missions had become more and more frequent over the last year. And now he was thinking about her again. He scowled.

As if in response to his mood, thunder growled angrily overhead, and the rain at last began to fall. It was heavy and cold, and he was drenched almost immediately. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth. The forest floor quickly became a sea of mud, and simply walking without slipping and falling soon took all his attention, finally driving thoughts of Elphaba out of his mind. He squinted through the water dripping over his brow, searching for anything that might offer him some protection. Lightning cracked in the distance, and with the thunder came the distant roar of a tree crashing down.

He continued to stumble forward toward the dark place on the horizon he'd seen earlier, hoping it was a cavern or some other rock formation that would provide him some shelter. Even huddling at the bottom of a cliff would be better than nothing; at least he'd be protected from the wind and falling trees.

As he got closer, however, he realized he'd been too optimistic. It was a cliff, all right, but he was at the top of it. The forest floor split roughly and dropped away into a deep ravine perhaps fifty feet across, a jagged line cut into the earth. He glanced up and down its length, wondering if there was a gentler slope farther along that he could try to climb down, but the walls remained sharp and uneven for as far as he could see.

_Great. What now?_ Not only would the ravine fail to provide him any protection from the elements, it would prevent him from traveling any farther in this direction. He could turn back, but there hadn't been a place to hide from the storm in that direction, either. He crept a bit closer to the ravine's edge, resting his hand on a tree to steady himself, and peered down. It was definitely too steep to climb. Fiyero turned back and surveyed the trees. Maybe if he crouched beside one of them, put his back to the trunk?

Lightning struck the next tree in front of him, and the thunder was almost instantaneous. He jumped, surprised, and slipped a little. He caught himself, shuddering a little at the close call. He needed to be more careful; if he'd slipped any farther... And then the tree was falling, filling up his vision, its trunk scarred with black where the lightning had scorched it and ruined it. He took a reflexive step backward, his feet struggling for purchase in the mud, and then he was falling, too.

_Well_, he thought, with a strange clarity beneath the panic, _this is what I get for going after her alone._


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! I could still use a beta-reader, if anyone is interested in helping ;)

Also, there was some question about timing. In my brain, this is taking place somewhere shortly after Thank Goodness but before Wicked Witch of the East. It's not clear to me, in the musical, how much time there is in between there, but if I have to make this slightly AU to make it fit, that's okay with me ;)

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Elphaba scowled as she picked her way around puddles and over fallen logs, using her broom for balance when necessary. This storm had done more damage than most, seeming determined to tear the forest to shreds on its way to the Emerald City. Of course, Morrible would never allow it to behave that way when it arrived. Perhaps it was simply determined to vent as much of its fury as possible before it was thwarted. Elphaba wished she could release her own fury in such a destructive fashion without being thwarted by Morrible and the Wizard.

She'd been meeting with a pack of Wolves when the storm hit. The resistance movement relied heavily on word of mouth communication, as difficult as it was for some of the Animals to put pen to paper, and while Birds were the fastest method, Wolves served as good messengers and spies. They guarded most of the Gillikin Forest and sent messengers into the other quadrants of Oz for news.

The Wolves had offered her shelter when it became obvious that walking home would be dangerous, and she spent a pleasant handful of hours playing with the Cubs in a large, dry cavern. It was good to spend time with creatures who were young and carefree, who did not yet know how dangerous Oz was for them. It reminded her of what she was fighting for. But it made her feel very ol at the same time, more aware of the burden of knowledge on her shoulders.

She did not—could not—regret the choice she'd made. She was doing the right thing. But she did regret the consequences of that decision. She'd become an outlaw, a fugitive. She'd thrown away all her old dreams of fame and acceptance at the Wizard's side. She'd abandoned Nessa, after she'd promised to look after her. And she'd lost Glinda, the first friend she'd ever had.

Glinda, who was now apparently the right hand of the Wizard, if only symbolically. The Animals spoke of her with amused disdain. Her duties seemed to consist of travelling around Oz and smiling, assuring people they were not in danger, bolstering morale and public confidence in the Wizard. She'd become a pretty mouthpiece. Elphaba wondered how she rationalized it, what Morrible and the Wizard had told her to convince her to join them. Perhaps it had taken no convincing at all. Perhaps all Glinda wanted was a spotlight, no matter the cost.

Elphaba wondered what Glinda said about her, in her many press conferences. And if she believed it.

And Fiyero… She closed her eyes for a moment. Fiyero was Captain of the Gale Force. Charged with finding and capturing the Wicked Witch of the West. Somehow that betrayal hurt more than Glinda's. She expected Glinda to be easily seduced by popularity and public adoration. That was her nature. Elphaba had believed Fiyero was stronger than that, smarter than that. But he'd joined the enemy just the same—had actually taken up arms against her. Elphaba drew a deep breath, closing her eyes until the prickle of unshed tears subsided. She missed the two of them so much she ached with it, but crying would not help that.

She put her free hand on a fallen tree to steady herself as she climbed over it. She could have flown home, of course, but she didn't like to use the broom when her own two feet would suffice. She'd cast the spell in such a hurry that she couldn't be sure what its limitations were. What if it would only work for a limited number of trips? And she wasted all of them on quick jaunts an hour's walk up the ravine?

As she straightened up again, a flash of green in the distance caught her eye. The whole forest was green, of course, but this was a different shade, brighter and more even than the mottled greens and browns of tree and bush and undergrowth. It was the color of the Wizard's private staff, and the color the Gale Forcers wore. One of Fiyero's young idiots, out looking for her?

She tensed, tightening her grip on the broom, and watched for several moments. The scrap of green did not move. Either he was injured, or he was very patient, crouching motionless on the forest floor and waiting for her to get closer. She waited a bit longer, and then took a few tentative steps forward. When it still made no move, she sighed in exasperation and walked purposefully across the ravine.

It was indeed one of Fiyero's soldiers, she could see as she drew closer. He was sprawled on his side, his back turned to her, and he was clearly injured. His fair hair was matted with blood. She glanced up at the lip of the ravine. Had he fallen? If so, he'd been lucky to survive the fall. Where were the rest of his men? Young fool, walking alone through the woods in such a storm.

She couldn't tell, from this distance, if he was breathing. She hesitated. What should she do with him? He was an enemy combatant; by rights she ought to leave him. But he was wounded, and part of her balked at the idea of letting a man die when she could have done something to save him. She was not the wicked, heartless creature the Wizard and Morrible made her out to be. She could show mercy.

She crept closer, until she could see that he was indeed breathing, his ribs rising and falling softly. She knelt behind his body. If she could get him onto the broom, she could balance him against her and walk him the rest of the way home. She wedged the broom under his back and rolled him onto it as gently as she could. As she did, his face came into view, and she nearly let go of him in surprise.

Not one of Fiyero's soldiers.

Panic shot through her, sharp and acidic in her mouth. "Fiyero," she whispered, her heart pounding, and then she called frantically on the magic within the broom, lifting him precariously into the air. She cradled his body gently against her belly and led the broom as quickly as she dared through the trees toward home.


	3. Chapter 3

He dreamed, feverishly, of chasing her through the forest. He caught only snatches of her through the trees, traces of black cloth and green skin, and no matter how fast he ran she was always a step ahead of him. He called out, but she did not listen. When he finally managed to stretch forward, to strain and reach an arm out, lay a hand on her wrist, pain exploded in his chest. He staggered backwards and she slipped out of his grasp.

* * *

Once the initial moments of panic and desperate terror had passed, Elphaba's thoughts cleared and she was able to consider how best to proceed. The walk back to her cavern was slow and awkward, his body cradled precariously against hers, balanced along the broom handle. He mumbled once or twice in his sleep, sounds of confusion or pain, and she found herself murmuring words of reassurance in reply. Once he lashed an arm out as if reaching for something, nearly tipping himself from the broom, and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like her name. She caught his flailing hand to steady him, wrapped his fingers tight in hers, and tried to ignore the tiny thrill that spread through her. "Hush, Fiyero…"

When they arrived, she whispered the spell to release the glamour that hid the cave from passersby. She maneuvered the broom over to the bed. His clothes were still wet and streaked with mud from lying on the ravine floor, but she didn't think she could balance him on the broom and wrestle with the wet cloth at the same time. She pulled the blankets back with one hand and lowered him down as gently as she could.

* * *

Fiyero was aware, vaguely, of light and then darkness, of movement, of the strange sensation of floating. Everything was muffled, and overlaid on it all was a red wash of pain and confusion. He drifted, eyes half-closed, and consciousness faded in and out. Someone was murmuring to him, and though he couldn't make out the words, the tone of voice varied between frustration and fear. He felt his body lowered onto something soft, and then there were gentle hands in his hair, sweeping it back from his brow and probing at the searing line of pain along his hairline. He winced, finding no strength to pull away but managing a grunt of pain, and the touch withdrew.

Fingers appeared, then, at his throat, fluttering down and across his chest, and then his jacket was peeled open. He made another sound of pain and managed to open his eyes for a moment. The world swam in shades of black and wan gold before him, and he made out the blurred shape of a hand on his chest, easing back the jacket. A green hand.

His heart pounded with surprise and sudden, desperate hope, and awareness slipped away from him once more.

* * *

The wound on his forehead was no longer bleeding. She prodded it gently with her fingers, trying to gauge how deep it went. She did not think it would require stitches, but she worried what other effects the blow that had caused it might have.

Fiyero moaned and squirmed weakly under her hand and Elphaba pulled away, glancing over him for further injuries. There was blood on one sleeve of his jacket, over his bicep, and more on his side. She wondered, with some dread, how much blood he would have had to lose for it to soak through the heavy fabric. She unbuttoned the jacket and laid it open. He wore a simple green shirt beneath it, and there were larger bloodstains here. She hesitated, but clearly his need for medical attention outweighed any concerns for his modesty, and she unbuttoned the cotton shirt as well. At first glance it did not look as if these wounds were bleeding anymore, either, but his skin was damp and cold and his chest was smeared with dirt and dried blood. If he wasn't bleeding anywhere at the moment, her first act of business was getting him clean, dry, and warm.

She slid the soiled jacket and shirt out from under him and dropped them to the floor, and then reached reluctantly for the waistband of his sodden pants, stripping them off and leaving him in his undershorts. They too were damp from the rain, but she wasn't going to undress him any further.

She moved quickly about the cave, collecting supplies, and then she settled herself at the bedside once more and pulled the bedclothes down to his waist. Dipping a cloth in a bowl of water, she began to gently wash the grime and blood from his face and throat.

It was impossible not to notice, as Elphaba ran the cloth over his shoulders, the shape of his body under her hands. At Shiz he'd had the figure of a dancer, long lean muscles and easy grace. Eighteen months in the Wizard's service had hardened him, broadened him, sharpened the curves in his arms and shoulders. Covered with dirt and blood, he still fairly glowed with life. She tried to look at him dispassionately, clinically, but the truth was that she'd always felt a strange, unwelcome attraction to him. As bruised and battered as he was now, he was still beautiful, and she was ashamed to feel that familiar, half-forgotten spark under her skin.

She eased the cloth down over his chest, carefully washing away the mess, and then his heartbeat was under her palm. Soft, slow, even. Elphaba caught her breath, transfixed somehow by that sensation, and after a moment she pulled the cloth away and laid her hand directly on his chest. His skin was slightly damp under her fingers, but warm, and his chest rose and fell with his breathing. She had never touched a man this way—had never touched _anyone_ this way—and the simple miracle of it took her breath away. His heart, beating beneath her hand. It had not skittered to a stop when he fell from the ravine's edge; it had not driven his life's blood out through his wounds into the mud. He was alive, and the mix of relief and wonder and want made her briefly dizzy.

He shifted a little under her. "Elphaba…"

She started and snatched her hand away, her own heart pounding, guilt and shame and longing washing over her. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to banish the sight and sensation of him from her memory. When she had calmed a little, she opened her eyes and continued her ministrations as quickly and impassively as she could, averting her eyes from his body whenever possible.

It wasn't until later that it occurred to her to wonder why he'd spoken her name at all.

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AN: Thank you to everyone who's reading and reviewing! I'm trying to update relatively quickly. And a huge thank you to GraniaMhaol and Hatman for betareading for me! You were extremely helpful.

Also, I saw Wicked again a few weeks ago, this time with Stephanie J. Block, Kendra Kassebaum, and David Burnham. I adored them. I _adored_ Stephanie. She _is_ Elphaba for me. I wrote up a ridiculously long review (longer than all the chapters of this fic combined!). If anyone around here is interested in reading that sort of thing, it was posted on June 16th in my LiveJournal, which is linked from my FFnet profile.


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